


Star Wars: Race for the Resistance

by sortakate



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Dark Rey (Star Wars), F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Bond Shenanigans (Star Wars), Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, No palpatine will not be showing up, Podracing (Star Wars), Rey Nobody duh, Reylo AU Week, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29361279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sortakate/pseuds/sortakate
Summary: AU of the Sequel Trilogy with Pod-racing and a Reylo pairing.Instead of murdering children, Ben Solo runs away from the Jedi school and Snoke’s voice in his head. Ben runs all the way to the outer rim to fall into his grandfather’s footsteps by taking up pod-racing and becoming champion racer, Kylo Bolt. With only the companionship of BB-8, a gift from smuggler friend Poe Dameron, Kylo lives a fast and dirty life, stumbling from cantina to race track in order to outrun the memories of his parents and a legacy that haunts him.But his careless way of living comes to a screeching halt when he meets Rey from Jakku, a force-sensitive pod mechanic and indentured to a slave owner. He quickly realizes that his petty attempt to establish a legacy of his own is nothing compared to the weight of the bond between them. But just as Kylo decides to bring Rey into his dangerous lifestyle, consequences be damned, she inadvertently becomes the new target of the First Order's mission to erase the Jedi legacy from the galaxy.As the First Order closes in, Kylo must decide what's more important to him: a championship title or his feelings for Rey Nobody and the entire fate of the galaxy.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. ROLL CREDITS

**STAR WARS**

**EPISODE VII**

**RACE FOR THE RESISTANCE**

Luke Skywalker as vanished.

In his absence, the sinister FIRST ORDER,

has risen from the ashes of the Empire

and will not rest until Skywalker,

the last known Jedi, has been destroyed. 

With the support of the REPUBLIC,

General Organa leads a brave RESISTANCE.

She is desperate to find her brother Luke

and her runaway son, Ben Solo, to gain

their help in restoring peace and justice to the galaxy.

Leia continues to scour the galaxy for a son

she hasn’t seen in a decade and potentially

her only hope to ever find Luke...


	2. "Your Whisky Sucks Anyway"

Kylo was going to die. More specifically, he was going to plunge off a cliff and explode into a million charred little pieces. He wondered briefly, as he hung like an animal before slaughter, which part of him would burn first. His hands? His chest? _Please_ , he silently begged, _not the face._

Overall, he was having a bad day. It started just as the blistering sun crested over Jakku’s brutal desert when he found his account devoid of credits, his head pounding after too many drinks last night, and an angry podracer pressuring him to start a grudge match he had no record of agreeing to. Now, as all of the blood flooded his head, it felt like his skull might crack open under its own force before the fall off a cliff did him in. He considered the fall, how long it would take for some scavenger to find his body, the likelihood that no one would ever know or care that he had died. Then he considered the prize he’d been hunting down for the past five years: Podrace Champion of the Galaxy. He was so close now, five races into the season and finishing top two or better each time. What a waste it would be for him to die here, dangling off this cliff on a shithole planet not even the Empire cared about anymore. If he was honest—which he usually, brutally was—it was sheer arrogance alone that was going to save him.

Kylo grunted as he released the harness holding him into place, his black-gloved hands grabbing the lip of the cockpit just in time. The pod groaned under the weight shift as Kylo dangled now _outside_ of the craft. 

_Whatever, it was better than feeling trapped,_ he decided.

He sighed through his nose, focused on the whipping desert wind kissing his messy black hair and reassessed the situation. The pod’s twin engines were jammed between two narrow boulders on the top of the cliff while the scuffed cockpit dangled from the strong cables that connected the machine together. It was the only thing holding him and the cockpit up from the thousand foot drop, but each shift of movement sent shards of rock and gravel shooting off and the dual engines slipping closer to the edge. He could risk the engines dislodging and try climbing up the wired cables that connected the cockpit to them, or he could try abandoning the pod completely and climbing up the rocky cliff face. Both options nauseated him. He wasn’t afraid of heights per se, but he didn’t particularly enjoy dangling a thousand feet in the air without a rope or a harness or even the force gently brushing beneath his feet. 

Master Luke’s obnoxiously wise voice shoved its way into his thoughts, _calm down, Ben. Think before you act. Fear will only make you panic. Stay calm._

Kylo shoved his master’s teachings away. He would think for himself, he would get himself out of this mess. Concentrating his effort into his already strained muscles, Kylo shifted his weight, using only one hand to hold himself up as he held the other out to reach for metal pick jammed into a pocket of the cockpit. He called upon the force to bring him the tool, his fingers coaxing the air until the object was wrapped in his gloved hand. Now was the tricky part. Still holding on by only one hand, Kylo twisted away from the pod and faced outward. The rocky canyon in all of its terrifying glory sat before him, the orange sand and stone a mockery beneath him, taunting him with certain death if he didn’t get this just right. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, cursed the stupid sand and swung with all of his weight toward the cliff. The pick of the metal tool dug into the rock just as his other hand slipped from the pod. 

Instead of dangling from his wrecked pod, he was now dangling from the handle of the small pickaxe half-hazardly shoved into the rough rock. Gritting his teeth, he kicked at the stone until his feet found purchase and his arms were provided some respite of holding up his entire body weight. Thank the stars he was too hungover to eat breakfast this morning or he might’ve hurled between his thin leather boots. 

He took a few reassuring breaths, centering himself before he made his final move. 

He’d seen Luke do this move a million times, just a quick jump and flip and he’d be back on solid ground, the force cradling him the whole way. Now if only Kylo could get the force to respond the way he wanted to. Sure, in his previous life he’d been the child of resistance nobility, the force should’ve practically blessed the very air he breathed. But now that he was Kylo Bolt, podracer extraordinaire, his entire history was scrubbed away. The force wasn’t a way of life for him, but more like an annoying estranged relative that nagged his every move. Running away was a choice, not using the force for every minute action in his life was another choice. And yet he was positively haunted by the ghost of his childhood, of a legacy he abandoned. 

Kylo shoved away the existential crisis for now (or maybe forever if he ended up falling off this cliff) and recentered himself. With a gentle exhale through his nose, he kicked off the cliff side, his world turning upside down as he called upon the force to make him lighter than air and flip him upward. He released the pick axe just in time for the force to carry him up the rest of the way, his nose skimming the edge before he finally tumbled back on solid ground. It wasn’t graceful and he faceplanted in the dirt, a mess of limbs and sand-filled gasps. 

BB-8’s chittering beeps went off at the sight of him. 

“Yeah, yeah, little droid, I won’t die that easily,” he said, crawling into a standing position. Dusting himself off, he extended a hand to pat BB-8’s round little head. 

The groan of metal against solid rock turned Kylo’s attention to the pod just in time to watch the engines finally release from the boulders.

“No, no, no! No no no no!” he shouted, running toward the pod. The engines sailed off the cliff before his fingers could find any purchase. He watched his beautiful beast of a podracer fall through the air and land with a horrifying crash, a cloud of orange dust puffing around it. 

“Dammit,” he muttered and sank into the dirt. 

* * *

Several hours and several hiking miles later, Kylo found himself in a cantina, his mouth drier than Tatooine in the summer. The dingy establishment, partially obscured by mounds of sand, was mostly empty at this time in the early evening, just a few creatures exhausted from either scavenging all day or a few bounty hunters rolling into town looking for trouble. It was a familiar crowd for a runaway like Kylo. He croaked for a drink from the bartender, his hangover disappearing with the drama of crashing his pod and the humbling walk back to civilization. Whatever alien he was racing in the grudge match was long gone, but he’d probably come hunting for credits from Kylo soon. 

With a quick swipe of fingers through the air, Kylo managed to convince the bartender to give him his drink for free, along with a glass of lukewarm, stale water. A Jedi mind trick, he scoffed, but it felt utterly Sith-like to deny one of their freewill for his own gain. But Kylo didn’t put weight into the differences between good and evil anymore, they were made up constructs master Luke could never convince him of. 

He took both drinks to a secluded booth in the corner, BB-8 rolling next to his feet with happy chirps. Not bothering to shed his black and dusty desert dressings, Kylo drank with his face still mostly concealed, hands still gloved, ego still bruised. 

The bursting open of the cantina doors irritated him and frightened BB-8.

“It’s fine,” he whispered. “No one’s looking for us.”

“Kylo Bolt!” A loud voice shouted in the common tongue with a languished accent, all of the consonants of his name rolling together. 

“Okay, I was wrong,” he admitted to BB-8, sneaking a glance at one of two exits in this cantina. 

“Seems like you left something in the desert!” The Toydarian hoisted a piece of warped metal onto the table in front of Kylo. He fought back a cringe and shrugged instead. “I win, giant, time to pay up.” 

The short stubby being with wings and three-fingered hands waited for Kylo to respond, its buoyant body floating in air, almost taunting the human with his rebuff of gravity. 

“Perhaps a rematch, Bon Pagga?” Kylo said lowly, his deep voice still crackly and dry. Some of his memories of the previous night were coming back to him, but he was still really unsure how he ended up racing an alien as miserable as Bon Pagga. Worse, he couldn’t believe he actually lost the match. 

The Toydarian laughed, a horrible noise more resembling a congested cough than any form of amusement. “You can’t pay me for the first bet, now you expect me to take on another? Your pod is at the bottom of a cliff, I don’t think you could handle a rematch, boy.”

Kylo ground his teeth.

“Pay. Up.” Bon threatened.

“Credits are a bit tight at the moment,” Kylo said, taking a sip of bitter space-whisky. “Try again in a few weeks.”

“That’s not what we agreed to,” the Toydarian said, snapping his stubby fingers. Two cloaked figures emerged behind him, around Kylo’s height but beefier and most definitely not human. The entire cantina went silent, the breaths of the patrons held in anticipation of whoever was going to make the next move. 

Kylo took another arrogant sip of whisky. “If you plan to beat me up, you should know that I don’t magically bleed credits.”

One of the cloaked figures shot forward and yanked Kylo out of the booth. BB-8 squealed in fear.

Held up by the front of his black cloak, Kylo deigned to drag his eyes to meet the gaze of the hired ruffian holding him. Beady black eyes obscured by dusty goggles stared back at him, a lipless mouth revealed drool and blood-covered teeth. Kylo wondered if this creature was sentient or a merely a pawn of the Toydarian’s wishes.

“Don’t be mouthy, boy,” Bon Pagga spat. “Or we’ll be forced to sell you into slavery to pay off your betting debts.”

“Slavery?” Kylo questioned, sneakily moving his hand to the metal hilt of a saber waiting in his belt. “I’d rather not.”

Bon Pagga laughed again. “I should have my friends here kill you as a service to the community, the galaxy doesn’t need anymore snot-nosed arrogant pricks like you.”

“I don’t disagree,” Kylo choked out and moved the saber to press into the ruffian’s stomach. The black eyes widened slightly at the move. “Nobody needs me, but I do quite like living.”

Kylo flicked the saber on and the unstable red beam exploded into his assailant. The ruffian howled in pain at the cauterized hole in his torso, dropping Kylo onto the table. Kylo sprang up into a crouch, the lightsaber pointed at Bon Pagga and the uninjured henchman he brought along.

The red glow of the saber illuminated across the faces of the cantina patrons, horror and curiosity possessing them into awed silence. 

“A Sith?” Bon Pagga hissed.

“No.”

“A Jedi with a stolen red saber, then?”

“Also no.” Kylo was almost offended at the stolen jab. He’d made the saber himself and he was damn proud of its erratic nature. 

“Then you’re just a child with a toy!” Bon shouted and the cantina erupted with gun fire and shouting. Tables were tossed over and drinks splashed onto the dusty floor. Kylo easily deflected the blasts with his saber, the two smaller beams that sprang from hilt baring the brunt of the shots. Kylo lept from the table and sliced Bon’s other ruffian in half. He pointed the sparking end of the lightsaber toward Bon.

“Still think I’m a child?”

Bon gulped as Kylo pressed the saber closer to his scrunched face, flickers of red sparks dancing between them. 

A shot from a blaster caught Kylo’s attention just in time for him to turn and hold out a hand, stopping the scarlet beam mid-air. 

“That’s enough,” the bartender ordered, clearly the owner of the blaster aimed at Kylo.

Sweat dripped down his forehead from the effort of keeping the highly volatile shot in mid-air.

“Agreed,” Kylo huffed and released the blast, directing it to land harmlessly on the floor. 

“Get out, freak, and do not return unless you wish to die.”

“Is that a promise?” Kylo taunted with a smirk. The bartender fired another blast that Kylo deflected with his saber.

“Fair enough, your whisky sucks anyway,” Kylo quipped as he hurriedly left the cantina, a stressed-out BB-8 tight on his heels. Could this day get any worse?


End file.
